I scroll through the photos that Mama sent to our family group chat – her winning her first competition of their trip, a Quarter Horse medallion draped around her neck as she grins a big white smile at my dad behind the camera. I scan my eyes over her everyday cowgirl outfit – a pair of mid-wash blue denim jeans, hoisted around her small waist with a thick leather belt, wherein a huge tiger’s eye gemstone is positioned in the centre of the bronzed buckle, and a tight navy shirt buttoned up to her chin. Her cocoa brown cowboy hat is the cherry on the cake.
It takes every ounce of my good-natured sibling loyalty to not tattle on Kaleb’s hot tub agenda, which he has been storing for the past week underneath one of the wooden vehicle shelters my dad built a few summers ago, preventing it from getting fucked up in the sunlight. Instead, I flick off from the page of photos, open up my contacts list, and click the call button at the top of the screen.
“Hey Pumpkin.” My dad’s maple syrup drawl comes in through the speaker after a couple of seconds. “You see the pics?”
I nod even though he can’t see me and I set the call to speakerphone so that I can collate my garb for the shower and wash the day’s worth of cowpat, dirt, gravel dust and hay off of me before I become too tired to care.
“She looks amazing,” I say, pulling a fresh pair of pjs from my dresser. “And first prize too.”
“She’s a superstar,” he agrees. Then adds, “Just like our baby girl.”
A warm feeling spreads through my chest and I scrunch my nose to hide my smile. “Papa,” I groan, feigning embarrassment.
“And you look just like her too these days,” he continues. Then he asks, “Kaleb being good?”
I hear a bottle top popping somewhere in the background.
“Define good,” I say dryly. I can get away with masking the truth with sarcasm because Papa doesn’t really understand half of the stuff that I say anyway.
“Is he doing his fair share around the ranch?” he questions, then takes a swig of whatever he’s drinking.
I plop my underwear on top of my pjs and then scoop up the clothes pile, grabbing my cell as I leave my bedroom. “Yeah, he actually is.” Alongside having impromptu jamming sessions every night and organising some hush-hush secret pool party.
“Hay need cutting yet? I checked the weather and it’s still looking dandy, fingers-crossed.”
“I’m gonna get Kaleb to do it next week,” I tell him, kicking up a leg so that I can shut my door with my foot.
“Next week,” he muses quietly.
I hear him scratch at his scalp, deep in thought.
I understand why when he asks me, “You got any plans for the fourth?”
“I don’t, but Kaleb probably does. And River’s coming up just after,” I admit.
My dad knows that River is my best friend from high school and he’s met her on a couple of occasions. I can sense him nodding, placated, through the phone.
“You know what Kaleb has planned? Nothing at the ranch I hope.”
I hip-bump the bathroom door open and dump my clothes on the counter. Then I cross my fingers behind my back. “I’m not sure what he has planned yet. Maybe it’s better if you ask him.”
“Can you put him on the phone?”
“I’m about to shower,” I say. Code for: I do not want to be any way involved with you potentially finding out what Kaleb has planned.
“Okay Pumpkin, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll text Kaleb and ask him to give me a ring.”
RIP Kaleb.
“Love you, Papa. Tell mom congratulations.”
“Love you too, Pumpkin.”
There’s a click and then the line disconnects.
I back-kick the door shut and then flip the lock, stripping out of my dirty clothes and throwing them into the wicker laundry basket.
It’s been about a week since Madden and Kaleb pulled up and it’s been weirdly good having them around. Ever since the splinter incident I’ve been on my best behaviour because I don’t want Kaleb to know how I feel about his best friend, and with the barn restoration that Madden’s taken upon himself he’s so shattered that he’s been passing out on the sofa most evenings. Undoubtedly, him being unconscious does make avoiding our feelings a hell of a lot easier.
Plus, I’ve also managed to stay out of their hair under my milkmaid disguise – carting the dairy load to the factory and then stopping by the bar so that I can get in some practice time, courtesy of the key that Dyl smuggled for me.
Horrendous employee, very handy buddy.
I twist on the shower head and hold my hand beneath the spray, checking the temperature of the water. It’s warm but I like being cooked alive, so I browse the shower gels in the wall cubby as I wait for my incinerator to heat up.
As I lean forwards, knocking my knees against the side of the tub, a dark blue bottle that I never paid attention to before catches my eyes.
Stepping into the bath and under the jet streams I reach up into the holder and lift out the bottle, running my eyes over the text on the label.
Midnight Pine. Relatable. I click open the top and give the body a little squeeze, lowering my nose to the opening so that I can breathe in the scent. His scent. A small mound of gel leaks up out of the plastic and I close my eyes as I take it in.
It’s heady and strong like freshly rubbed pine leaves, and dark too, like campfire smoke. That day when we were toying with each other in the forest and he held me close to him after extracting my splinter, the warm scent radiating from his skin was this scent. And the combination of this scent mixed with his skin…
Opening my eyes, I make a quick glance towards the door, checking that it’s locked, and then I squeeze out one glossy dollop, alight with anticipation.
I’m sure that he won’t miss one spurt of body wash.
I cup my hands under the water, now hot enough to boil vegetables, and then I rub my palms together, creating a thick, foamy lather. I arch my spine so that the spray can cascade down to my naval and then I lift my hands to my clavicle and start gently massaging. I grip and rotate my fingers down my arms, loosening my muscles from the day’s physical exertion.
I should indulge like this every day – God knows I need it what with all of the hauling I do – but for some reason I’m still so shy about my body, even when I’m basically home alone.
Why am I so tentative about touching myself? What repercussions am I afraid of with regards to my own body?
I shake my head at my own neurosis. Going down that neuropathway is way too deep for a shower. I should’ve stuck some music on before I’d got my hands all wet.
I stroke my hands up my throat, giving it a little squeeze before I slide them down over my chest. I peer down at myself, delicately rubbing the lather around my small curves and thinking about the fact that I’m now coated in Madden’s thick, warm-
A hard rap on the door shocks me out of my thoughts. I jolt like a deer in headlights.
What the hell am I doing? Bad Kitty. He isn’t even in the room and I’m still allowing him to fog up my brain.
“Occupied!” I shout out, my hands now moving double-time over my belly and ass and down my legs.
I don’t know who I want it to be out there the least. Kaleb, who will follow me around all evening until I lock myself in my room in order to ensure that I’m not going for a midnight jog with the coyotes? Or Madden, who will realise in the space of three seconds that I’ve pumped his soap all over myself like a tiny little perv?
Spooked out of my mind I quickly rinse off, rain-checking my self-massage for another evening, and then I scramble out of the bath, huddling under my towel to keep the heat in.
The knock on the pane sounds again so I bang back at them with my right fist, chucking the towel on the floor and then slipping into my underwear.
“Who the hell is it?” I bark out.
I pull on my shorts and a clean pyjama top and then, disgruntled, I whip open the window, praying for a fast air-circulation turnaround as I head back over to the door.
“Who-” I pull the door open and my jaw drops to the floor.
Wow.
Caked up in mud, sweat, and drying brown paint Madden rubs a flannel towel around the back of his neck whilst his other hand grips the edge of the door frame. His oiled-up bronze skin, glistening with exertion, radiates the warmth of a man who’s spent the entire day in a sun-trap, baking in the summer heat as he toils hour after hour. The belt that he wears is partially loosened, allowing his jeans to slip and expose the deep V which slices up from his groin to his lower abdominals. Which, I should mention, are completely exposed due to the fact that he’s shirtless.
“Oh,” I say, involuntarily obviously.
With his head ducked down so that he can continue wiping the sweat from around his shoulders he glances up at me through his lashes. His eyes are tired from his labour but still sparkling with our secret.
I’m eye-level with his chest so I let my gaze sweep across the width of it for another luxurious moment. I think that I’m regressing because right now the only thoughts that my brain can cook up are words like Muscles and Meat and Huge.
He taps his thumb against the wooden frame to recapture my attention. I flush like a criminal as I meet his eyes again.
“I gotta shower,” he says, his voice all deep and hoarse. “Sorry for rushing you, but I’m seizing the fu-” He stops himself mid-sentence, swallows and re-completes it. “I’m seizing up,” he finishes.
I nod, entranced, but I can’t seem to move. Probably because I don’t want to. If we could just stand here like this for the rest of the night, I would wholeheartedly be okay with that.
Aware that I’ve become nonresponsive, he lets out a chuckle, an amused twinkle in his eye.
“Come on princess, in or out,” he smiles, the tips of his cheekbones ruddy with pleasure. “Or,” he continues, dipping closer so that he can lower his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. “We could do a bit of both if you’d prefer.”
My eyes pop wide and my legs turn to jelly.
“Ha-ha,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual but really I’m all a-wobble. I turn briefly back to the bathroom under the guise of slinging my towel into the laundry bin, but the fact of the matter is that I’m trying to get my hormones under control. I briefly squeeze my eyes shut, trying to flush out the impression that his pecs have burned into my retinas.
Christ. I bend forward to pick up my towel when I feel a change in the airflow behind me. Or maybe it’s a change in the pheromones. I glance at Madden over my shoulder as I stand and I instantly note the change in his demeanour. His body has become still and his pupils have blacked the hell out.
Suddenly I realise why.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I lie quickly.
More like, it’s not what it smells like.
Which, again, would also be a lie.
“Did you…?” He breaches the threshold of the bathroom, eyes trained on the product cubby in the shower. I risk a glimpse in the same direction. The suddy bubbles of Midnight Pine shimmer as they slide down the bottle.
Damn it.
“You used my shower gel?” It’s a statement disguised as a question.
“Nope.” I’m a serial liar tonight.
His eyes slide back to me, half-mast with arousal. “Kitty,” he drawls deeply. “I’m obviously not mad at you for doing it.”
He takes another step closer, closing the gap, and I stay completely still. Watching me carefully he gradually lowers his face to my collarbone, exposed in my summer pyjama tank, and then he gently presses his lips against my skin.
I’m warm and clean from my speedy evening shower and he’s hot and dirty from barn renovating all day. The contrasting combination is like a shot of heroin and I shudder dramatically as his lip-ring digs into me.
He takes a deep inhale and a low sound rumbles in his chest. I can feel his hands hovering at my waist, desperate to get his palms all over me.
“Where’s Kaleb?” I whisper, the fear over my brother catching us mixing in with the pool of pleasure whirling in my belly.
“Still outside,” he murmurs against my skin, his soft black fringe tickling my jaw. Then, “Jesus, this smells so good on you, Kitty.”
He lifts himself up again until he’s towering a good foot over me. I step back so that my ass is pushed up against the sink. He follows me immediately, hands gripping into the porcelain on either side of my hips.
“Why’d you use it?” he asks, voice so low it’s fossilising.
Stupidly, I tell him the truth. “I wanted you on me,” I whisper, too scared to speak the words at a normal volume.
He closes his eyes momentarily, Adam’s apple undulating as he swallows hard.
“I want that too,” he replies, hands sliding closer to my pyjama shorts. “Maybe if Kaleb stays over at someone else’s one of these nights-” he begins, but he’s suddenly interrupted by the hoots of loud voices coming from outside.
Voices?
“What…?”
I look into Madden’s eyes and I can see the present moment dawning on him again. We’re back in the real world now, away from the heady make-believe land where it’s just the two of us. After one last sweeping look down my throat, clavicle, and to the ribbon on my shorts, he takes a lumbering step back, giving me the room to move around him.
“What’s going on out there?” I ask, brow furrowed.
“Uh, he’s…” Madden waves his arm behind him, gesturing vaguely in the vicinity of Outside. At least I’m not the only one who can barely string a sentence together right now.
Not knowing what he’s attempting to say I brush past him, leaving him alone to un-seize in the shower, and I walk down the landing, eyes on the windows facing the front of the cabin as I descend the stairs.
There are loads of cars outside, blinding headlights illuminating our living room as they idle in front of the wooden fence.
Have I forgotten something?
When I reach the bottom step I watch as Kaleb appears from the cow barn to greet the visitors, high fiving the guys and jerking his chin up at a whole host of girls.
Now I remember.
It’s almost the fourth and Kaleb’s having his hot tub party.
